


Comedown

by conceptofzero



Series: Trip [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been four days since Droog called. His message had been short and simple, just a time and a location to meet him at later that evening. Die hadn’t gone. He’d spent most of the night in another timeline where Droog was dead and the city’s fashion had gone in a different direction. Die figured he would pay the price for it, but the way he saw it, he paid that price even if he did do what Droog said.</p><p>He should have realized that Droog would know that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comedown

It’s been four days since Droog called. His message had been short and simple, just a time and a location to meet him at later that evening. Die hadn’t gone. He’d spent most of the night in another timeline where Droog was dead and the city’s fashion had gone in a different direction. Die figured he would pay the price for it, but the way he saw it, he paid that price even if he did do what Droog said.

He should have realized that Droog would know that.

It’s been three days since their contact at the hospital called to tell them Crowbar had been found in an alleyway. Droog had made good on the implied threat in his message, the one Die had thought was levelled at him. Crowbar had been worked over hard. His face was swollen and both ankles were broken. Droog had been careful. Nothing he’d done to Crowbar had showed up on the effigy. No rips, no tears, just painful bruises and smaller broken bones to keep Crowbar from being able to get away. They hadn’t even realized how badly he’d been hurt until they saw him.

Crowbar hadn’t blamed Die. He hadn’t even really looked at him, but that was mostly because his eyes were swollen up. Die had known exactly who was to blame, and he understood the message Droog was sending him. There were plenty of ways to kill someone without it showing on their effigy until it was already in flames.

Four hours ago, Droog called again. New time, same location.

Die’s passed by the apartment building enough times, but he’s never been inside. Die is already on edge when he finds the apartment on the top floor, but finding an open door only makes him feel even worse. It swings open to reveal a room starkly decorated in black and red. This place is clearly Droog’s other home, the place he brings the people he sleeps with but doesn’t trust with the location of the Midnight Crew’s secret hideout.

He lingers in the doorway until Droog speaks up, sitting on a couch and facing away from Die. “Step inside and close the door.”

Die does, because he’s not sure what else to do. He hesitantly heads deeper into the place, waiting for the moment when Droog stands up and begins to hurt Die. Droog doesn’t seem to be in a rush to do anything. He just stays where he is on the couch, a glass of whiskey in his hand. There’s a radio in the corner playing music, though it’s turned down to just a whisper.

He carefully comes around the edge of the couch, looking to Droog for a direction, and then finally stops once he’s directly in front of him. The silence just stretches on. Droog clearly knows he’s here by the way he looks up to meet Die’s eyes, and holds that gaze. But that’s all. He just watches Die without comment.

Die awkwardly stands there for at least five minutes or more, waiting for some sort of command. But Droog says nothing. It’s as if Die is nothing more than a piece of furniture, green instead of black. 

The silence becomes unbearable. Die wants this over with. He wants to go back to the Mansion and he wants to forget all about this. And he can’t do that until Droog gets what he wants. He clears his throat and weakly asks, “Should I... get undressed?”

Droog nods, and Die follows the one instruction he’s been given, quickly pulling his jacket off. “No.” He stops as soon as Droog speaks, looking to him for an explanation. Droog sips from his drink, adding an instruction as if it’s an afterthought.“Slowly.”

Slowly. Die forces himself to do just that, taking the time to remove his items one by one, the coat and the shirt settled on the empty chair across from Droog, his pants and boots, and finally his socks and underwear, until he’s standing there naked. At least he isn’t erect. It would be hard to get... well. Get hard while surrounded by all of Droog’s things, and with Droog judging him so silently, so quietly.

He thinks of Crowbar, lying bruised and bloody on the ground. This is for him. He’s doing this for Crowbar. Die steps towards Droog, waiting for an instruction. There’s nothing... but it’s not a stop, so he takes another step, and another, until he’s right in front of Droog.

Die knows how this works. He gets onto his knees in front of Droog, eyes staring down at the cushions on the couch, and at Droog’s dark sharp suit. His crotch is right there in front of him, clearly waiting for Die to do as he’s told. Die reaches for his fly, but Droog slaps his hands away. “I didn’t say take it out.”

“I... I don’t-” Die shuts up half a second later, waiting for Droog to hit him. He doesn’t, but his flat eyes stay fixed on Die. “I don’t know what you want. What... what do you want me to do?”

“Use your mouth.” He nudges Die’s head down, until his lips are pressed against Droog’s pants. He can feel the shape of Droog’s cock underneath the warm fabric and his mouth parts around it automatically. Die hates how quick his body accommodates Droog, hates that he’s naked getting hard while kneeling on the floor of Droog’s apartment. They’ve barely started, and he already knows somehow that this will be worse than when he used force to get what he wanted.

Die breathes heavily against against Droog’s cock, his breath coming quickly and terrified. He quietly hopes that this time, maybe a blowjob will be enough. It’s clear that no, it won’t be, but he still quietly hopes as much.

The time drags on. The fabric gets slightly damp where his mouth moves over Droog’s groin. Droog says nothing, even as it becomes clear that Die’s drooling a little. This is torture. He wishes he just had the cock in his mouth so he could shut off his brain and stop thinking. But right now, he can’t do that, not when he’s so aware of how the fabric catches on his lips and he can faintly taste salt when his tongue slides over the fabric near the end of Droog’s cock.

He tries to stand it for as long as he can, but eventually Die breaks, just wanting to get this over with. Die’s voice is so quiet when he speaks, his mouth still pressed against Droog’s member. “Can I suck your cock?”

All he can hear is Droog sipping from his drink. Die lifts his head up, looking for an answer. Droog doesn’t even raise an eyebrow. “Can you?”

He flushes. Die really doesn’t want to say the words, especially not while looking at Droog. But he doesn’t have a choice. “May I suck your cock? … please?”

That seems to be enough. Droog nods, and Die quickly gets his fly open. His cock pushes out as soon as the fabric’s out of the way, hard and slightly wet at the end. Die quickly slides his mouth over it, closing his eyes and sucking. This is better. It’s humiliating, but it’s better because it will be over sooner-

“Look up at me.” Droog commands, and Die’s eyes open up. He turns them up towards Droog’s face, watching as Droog presses his glass to his mouth. “Don’t look away.”

The threat isn’t spelt out. It doesn’t have to be. His eyes stay up on Droog’s face, even as his cheeks flush red with shame. So much for pretending that he’s anywhere else, and anyone else. His head bobs up and down on Droog’s cock, going about as fast as he comfortably can.

He keeps waiting for the moment when Droog has enough of waiting, when he just grabs Die’s head and fucks his face until he can’t breathe. But Droog’s hands don’t go anywhere near Die. He just sits there, drinking and watching, not saying a word or making a sound as Die does his best to get him off. The worst part is that he’s not even forcing Die to do anything. He could get up and walk out the door right now...

But Crowbar’s bloody face comes to mind and he knows he can’t walk out of here.

He wraps his fist around the base of Droog’s cock, checking to make sure it’s okay before he starts stroking. Droog gives no indication one way or the other. Die backs his mouth off so he can stroke Droog’s cock, only keeping the head of Droog’s cock in his mouth. He sucks on it, tongue flicking over the head, and keeps searching for some sign that he’s doing it right.

The only sign he gets is when Droog finally makes a small grunting sound, and Die’s mouth floods with cum. His eyes go wide, and though his first instinct is to pull off, he fights through it, forcing himself to stay where he is. As his fist keeps stroking Droog, his mouth swallows as much as he can, eyes still fixed up at Droog’s face. Droog’s eyes close for a few seconds, his head pushed back against the couch as a minor ripple of pleasure slides over it.

Only when Droog stops does he pull his mouth off, choking down the last the salty mess in his mouth. He stays on his knees, waiting to be dismissed. Droog says nothing at all, simply loosening his tie. He has another sip from his drink, the ice clinking up against the side of the glass. It’s the only sound in the whole apartment.

Die tries to wait. He tries to keep his mind busy with other things. But he’s naked, kneeling in front of Droog, and he can’t manage to pretend that anything else is happening for longer than maybe ten minutes. Maybe even less. “What do you want me to do now?”

Droog finishes his drink, holding out the empty glass to Die. “Make me another.”

He stares at the empty glass for a moment. It takes such a physical effort to reach up and take it from Droog. The glass is cold and a little sweaty. He could throw it in Droog’s face. Instead, he stands, holding it against his chest. “What were you drinking?”

“Whiskey.” He nods towards the bar on the other side of the room. Die gets up and takes a few steps toward it, turning around to look at Droog. The last few times have been so different from this, so violent and ugly... but Droog isn’t doing that this time. Die knows what he’s capable of... what he was capable of less than three days ago, when he beat Crowbar into a bloody pulp because Die tried to run away.

Die’s not precise when fixing the drink. He fumbles with the ice bucket and cringes as he nearly slops whiskey on the bar surface. His hands keep shaking and at any moment, he’s expecting Droog to pull a gun on him, or to grab hold of his throat and choke him. He’s expecting anything that isn’t this, something violent, something familiar. Die doesn’t like this. And he really doesn’t like that he’s still hard, even though he knows he shouldn’t be.

He brings the drink back to Droog, holding it out to him. It’s only as Droog takes it that Die realizes he could have spit in it, or poisoned it or... something. Maybe it would have gotten him hurt. Maybe it would have been worth it. Droog just sips from the drink, and after another long moment of silence, Die gets back onto his knees.

Every other time, they’ve done this twice, or nearly twice. Droog hasn’t told him this time is different. Die wraps a hand around Droog and starts to stroke his cock. Droog doesn’t say no, which means it must be the right thing to do. He keeps his eyes fixed down at Droog’s cock, watching it slide in and out of his fist.

It just goes on for what feels like forever. Droog doesn’t rush him or shout at him, or force him to hurry up. He only knows he’s doing well because Droog isn’t stopping him, and because he’s starting to get hard. Die’s still hard, even after all this time, and he knows he’s starting to leak a little. He’s glad the floors are hardwood instead of carpet because it will be easier to clean, and then he hates himself for even thinking something like this.

Die has never been good at fighting back in situations like this. He’s not angry with Droog, he’s just humiliated, and that’s not enough to get him angry. With anyone else, he would just leave, just run away and disappear. But he’s tried that with Droog and that wasn’t enough. Everything he usually does to cope with something like this isn’t working.

He struggles through the unrelenting quiet, waiting for Droog to give him some sort of command. Droog gets hard, hard enough that there’s pre-cum at the head of his cock, and he still doesn’t say anything. Die finally breaks the silence, begging, “Please...”

Droog just raises an eyebrow, waiting for more than just a single word. It wouldn’t take much to get Droog off, if Droog would let him. He could just bend over and let Droog fuck him, and it could all be over in a few minutes. And he hates that he’s thinking that, thinking about how it would be easier if he could just make Droog come faster, so this could be over quicker.

“Just... just fuck me.” He’s miserable and redfaced, but he doesn’t care. If Droog fucks him, then he can go home. He can pretend this hasn’t happened, just like the past few times haven’t happened either. “Just do it.”

There’s no response from Droog at first. Die keeps his eyes cast down, staring at the couch and at Droog’s thighs. He just wants this over with. He’ll do anything to get it over.

Droog’s free hand tilts Die’s head up to look at him, to meet his eyes. He can’t go any more red in the face, but he feels his body try. “What do you want?”

Die looks at Droog’s mouth, and at the cock he’s still stroking, and then at the floor. “I want to go home-”

“Then go. I won’t keep you here.” There’s another flash of sharp teeth. No, Droog won’t make him stay. But they both know that if Die leaves, Crowbar will pay the price. Maybe pay it in more ways than one.

“I want-” Die presses his lips together into a thin line, his hand stopping entirely. He needs to stop that. It’s not really about what he wants. He needs to stop saying that, stop playing into whatever Droog’s game is. “Whatever you want.”

“What do you want?” Droog sets the glass aside, focusing entirely on Die. Die knows what he wants. He wants what he had the last two times. He wants to fuck Die.

“You-” He pauses. No. That’s not what Droog wants. That isn’t what he’s asking. He wants Die to do this, as awful as it is. Die sets his hands on Droog’s knees. “I... I want you to fuck me.”

Droog nods. He holds out his wrists to Die. It takes him a moment to realize what Droog wants, but he’s quick the moment he does, taking out the cufflinks and setting them beside the glass. His fingers are shaking as he undoes the buttons on Droog’s shirt, but he’s careful not to accidentally tear or rip anything. The fabric is whisper soft under his fingers, and it slides off of Droog’s shell with ease. He does his best to fold it properly, setting it safely out of reach.

The shoes and socks are next, along with the garters wrapped firmly around Droog’s shins. Last are his pants, which Droog’s forced to actually lift his hips to help with. Die places them with the rest, then turns back to Droog. Even though they’re both naked, Die still feels as if he’s wearing less.

“Should I-... should I prepare myself?” Die asks. Droog gives a simple quick nod, and Die reaches over, digging into his pants and pulling out the little jar of lube he brought along. He hates that he’s prepared for this, but he knows it would be so much worse if he wasn’t. At least this way, he won’t tear something.

“Lean over the table,” Droog interrupts Die’s self-loathing. Die flushes when he realizes what Droog wants. He heads back over, turning away from Droog, and kneeling in front of the coffee table. His stomach presses down against the cold wood, and he dribbles some lube over his fingers. Then, with his ass pointed straight at Droog, he brings his fingers around and carefully starts to work them in.

He’s done this before for boyfriends who liked it, and a girlfriend or two who thought it was hot, but those were different situations. Die had done that because he felt comfortable. He doesn’t feel comfortable here. He doesn’t feel anything at all, except ashamed, and hard, and desperate. Die knows his body well, and it’s easy to ease his fingers in, to scissor at just the right moments, and to loosen himself up so at least it won’t be bad.

It’s just as he’s about to start with his third finger that Droog stops him with a clear and direct, “Enough.” Die stops, scrambling to turn around. He’s pretty sure Droog will want him on the floor, or maybe face down on the couch. He’s not expecting when Droog doesn’t move, and rather, motions for Die to climb up on the couch and straddle him.

“Um-” He starts to say, then catches himself when he sees the almost imperceptible narrowing of Droog’s eyes. Die shoves down the sour feelings in his stomach and turns himself around, beginning to settle into Droog’s lap. He doesn’t get far before Droog simply grabs hold of his arm and turns him around so they’re face. “Oh... Like this?”

The look on Droog’s face makes it clear: yes, like this. Die awkwardly settles into Droog’s lap, all too aware that Droog can see and feel exactly how hard he is right now. Their cocks press lightly against one another, Droog’s still damp from Die’s mouth, and Die’s leaking precum. He’s not expecting it when Droog wraps his hand around the both of them, giving their cocks easy a few, slow strokes. Die moans, balancing carefully on his knees. He doesn’t know where to put his hands.

Droog’s other hand takes hold of Die’s hips. Without a single word, he angles Die’s hips up, and after letting go of Die’s cock, he slips his own under Die. Die leans up as high as he can on his knees, shaking a little as he feels Droog’s shaft press up against his ass. The worst part is that Droog keeps staring him straight in the eye, even as the head of his cock presses against Die’s entrance. Die grits his teeth, cock twitching as Droog slowly slides in. “Droog...”

For once, Droog doesn’t shush him or hush him. In fact, he simply gives Die a push downward, and there’s almost a smile on his face as Die whines and shudders at the sudden change in speed. “Did you tell him how much you enjoy it?”

“W-what?” Die blinks, confused for a moment. Then it sets in with a shock; he’s asking if he told Crowbar about this. Die sputters, barely holding his tongue. It’s only the very real threat that keeps his mouth shut, that keeps him from telling Droog exactly how much he doesn’t want to tell anyone about this, ever. “N-not, I-”

“You should.” Droog gives another push with his hands, and Die ends up moaning as he’s all but impaled on Droog’s cock. His knees slide out a little at each side, and his hands finally end up holding onto Droog’s shoulders to stay upright. “Tell him about everything. I think he’d like that.”

Die blanches at the thought of Droog telling Crowbar anything. This is bad enough... he can’t stand the thought of Crowbar knowing why he was beaten so badly, or what Die’s been doing anytime he and Droog cross paths. “No, I. He’d... he wouldn’t understand... Please...”

Droog lets go of Die’s hips, reaching for his glass to have another drink. Die shifts a little, clenching his teeth to keep from whimpering. Droog’s so hard, and he’s deep inside Die. He waits for Droog to tell him what to do. But Droog doesn’t give him any orders. He just keeps looking at Die, until he has to break eye contact and look away.

This is insane. He steels himself, trying to keep his voice steady, even with the cock deep inside of him. “What do you want me to do?”

Droog sets one hand on Die’s ass and pushes him down again. Oh... Die shudders softly. His knees press down into the couch as he starts to rock, eyes fixed down on Droog’s chest. He wishes this hurt. He wishes it felt painful. Then at least it would be easier. But it feels good and that hurts so much worse.

Glass presses up against his mouth and Die glances up, looking at Droog as he tips the whiskey into Die’s mouth. He swallows, choking a little and pulling back to cough. Die keeps rocking as best he can. He wants this to be over quick, or as quick as it can be. Crowbar’s still waiting for him. Die wants to be there when he wakes up.

“He hasn’t even noticed your absence.” Die flinches, half because it’s so obvious what he’s thinking, and half because part of him knows it’s true. Droog sets his glass to the side, his hand holding onto Die’s chin and keeping him from looking away. His cock just twitches hard when he meets Droog’s eyes, groaning softly. “He never notices you, unless I’ve had you first.”

Die stops dead, eyes snapping up to Droog’s face with shock. “I- n-no-”

“Don’t lie.” The hand resting on Die’s ass pushes again, a reminder that he isn’t supposed to stop. Die reluctantly starts rocking again, face going red with embarrassment, and with arousal. Droog slides his fingers along Die’s jaw, wrapping around the back of his neck. “I saw him find you.”

It’s the hand resting on the back of his neck that keeps Die rocking, too aware of how easy it would be for Droog to snap his neck. He knows Droog would do it too. So all he can do it keep moving, pretending as hard as he can that he can’t hear what Droog’s really saying.

“When you go back tonight, he’ll know you came here. He’ll notice you then.” Droog’s cock rocks in and out of him. He’s torn between slowing down, just to make it less awful, or speeding up just to get it over with. The hand on the back of his neck squeezes tighter, threatening to leave a mark. “He’ll see the bruises on your neck.”

Die shudders, not entirely in disgust much to his chagrin. Crowbar will notice then, if he’s got bruises, if he’s visibly broken. That’s the only time he really notices Die. He wants so badly to be seen by him, and he hates that it takes him going home humiliated and hurt to make Crowbar look at him with something other than annoyance.

Droog loosens his grip on Die’s neck, resting his arm against the back of the couch. Die glances at it and then quickly looks away. The thought in his head right now shouldn’t be there. He’s not this pathetic, not this desperate... He knows he doesn’t want this, no matter how much he lives for the moment Crowbar looks at him instead of just looking through him.

It takes a moment longer to realize that he’s rocking down against Droog and Droog isn’t even encouraging him to do that. His face is hot and his eyes fix on Droog’s chest, trying to stare a hole through him. He’s hard, and it’s unfair how much Die wants Droog to wrap a hand around his cock and stroke until he comes. All he should want is to leave as soon as possible.

“All you have to do is ask.” Droog’s hand comes up again, wrapping around the front of Die’s throat. His breath catches as Droog squeezes ever so slightly. “This is not an order. You can stay silent, and when we’re finished, you can walk out the door without a mark on your body.”

The rest is left unsaid, but Die knows exactly what Droog’s offering; bruises that can’t be denied by anyone. He digs his teeth into his cheeks, all too aware of Droog’s iron grip. Just a word, and he could have a dark purple ring by the time he slides into Crowbar’s room. One word for that moment when Crowbar willingly touches Die.

“I...” If he were stronger, he could spit in Droog’s face and tell him he won’t beg him for anything. If he weren’t so pathetic, he would have a plan to deal with Droog. He would have some way of hurting or killing him prepared. He could murder him during sex, deliver some practiced one-liner while he murders him. Or maybe he could just deal with the consequences of resisting.

But that would mean Crowbar would stop looking at him again. It would mean going back to sitting alone in his room, holding Crowbar’s pin between his fingers and knowing that Crowbar would only notice him if he fucked up badly enough. It would mean death, or something worse than death.

He could kill Droog without flinching, but he can’t stand the thought of going back to being ignored. Die shoves back the ball of shame and guilt building in the pit of his stomach and sinks down deep on Droog, gasping out his answer. “Choke me.”

Droog doesn’t need to be asked twice. He turns them, pushing Die down against the sofa. The leather is a little cool against his back, but he quickly forgets about that as Droog’s hand clenches hard around Die’s neck. He chokes, mouth open wide and unable to breath, while Droog fucks him hard. Droog’s other hand keeps Die’s hips lifted, tilted so Droog can easily thrust down into him. It’s good and he gasps beneath Droog, his cock hard and throbbing, his lungs starting to burn.

Just as dark spots start to form at the edges of his eyes, Droog lets go and Die sucks in a whooping breath. As soon as his lungs are full, Droog wraps his hand around Die’s throat and does it again. Die’s hands dig into the couch, any moaning turned into helpless choking. In a way, it’s better. He doesn’t sound like he likes this anymore, even if his body says otherwise. Droog stares down at him with those cold eyes of his. Die expects him to say something, to rub it in Die’s face that he asked for this. But he doesn’t. He just keeps choking Die, over and over again, taking him to the edge.

It’s at the end of it when Die comes, out of breath, near the edge of passing out. Droog’s squeezing the life out of him while he fucks Die within an inch of his life, and all Die can do is gasp, completely helpless. That, more than anything, is what pushes Die over the edge; the knowledge that he can’t do anything Droog doesn’t want him to, not even something as essential as breathing. The darkness pushes against the edge of his vision, Droog looking Die straight in the eye as he squeezes the life out of him, and then Die’s coming, overwhelmed entirely by the sensation. Cum lands on his chest and he just pulses around Droog, unable to even think when his brain is a few seconds away from passing out.

Droog lets go of Die’s throat, and he pounds into Die hard enough that he can feel a little hurt leaking through the mix of hormones playing havoc with Die’s brain right now. It’ll be painful to sit tomorrow, but he doesn’t care about that right now. All he cares about is the amazing orgasm that’s still racing through his body, making him shudder and twist, and the way it hurts to breathe that lets him know there will be thick dark bruises on his throat in a few hours time.

It’s nearly an afterthought when Droog pulls out of Die and leans up. Die closes his eyes and opens his mouth, already used to what Droog likes. Most of it goes over his chest, but there’s some that lands in his mouth, hot and salty. He swallows and it hurts, the aching getting unbearable painful for a few seconds.

When he opens his eyes, Droog’s still there, crouched above Die. There’s an intense look on his face, and Die feels like he’s being dissected by Droog’s eyes. He shudders softly, lying there limp on the couch. After a moment, it occurs to him that Droog’s waiting for him to say something. Die feels a moment of resistance inside of him before pushing it aside. It’s a little late for him to get upset that Droog wants this from Die. “T-thank you...” He croaks out, wincing a little from the pain of speaking.

“Next week, same time.” Droog says softly, and much to Die’s shock, leans down and kisses him. Die’s mouth is still as Droog casually slips his tongue inside, and his wide eyes are fixed on Droog. Even after all of that, this was the last thing he was expecting. Part of him, the part that wants to live through this, kisses back after a few long moments. That seems to satisfy Droog, who draws back. Die watches, mute and unsettled, as Droog stands up and walks off without another word.

He lies there until he hears the shower start, and then Die slowly gets to his feet. The sink is nearby and he washes his face and chest clean, getting dressed when he’s no longer a complete mess. His body hurts all over, but he’s not as much of a mess as he was the last few times. In a way, he’s getting used to this. Maybe he should be horrified, but he’s just relieved that it isn’t getting any worse. He can live with this, awful as it is.

Die lingers by the door for a moment, unsure if he should leave or not. After a moment of waffling, he leaves, shutting the door as quietly as he can. If Droog doesn’t like it... he’ll find out next week.

The journey home is uneventful at least. Nobody else notices as Die drives up to the Felt Mansion, parking the car back into the garage beside the other silent vehicles. He comes in through the kitchen and heads for Crowbar’s room, hunched in on himself. Die catches a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of a grandfather clock, and his eyes widen as he realizes how deep and dark the bruises on his throat already are. His hand goes to his throat, wanting to cover them up-

But he stops himself. Die looks at his reflection, at the dark chain encircling his throat. He pushes his collar open further, until it’s impossible to ignore the marks that Droog left, the dark fingerprints and dusky finger lengths. Then he opens the door to Crowbar’s room and steps inside.

Crowbar is still awake, his own dark bruises moving from purple to yellow against the green of his skin. He looks up at Die, his eyes almost dismissing Die until he spots the marks on his throat. Die memorizes the look that comes over Crowbar’s face, the shock and horror, and the moment when Crowbar really sees Die instead of just seeing through him. “God, Die, what did he do to you?”

“It’s okay. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Die’s voice is hoarse when he speaks, stumbling a little on the hard consonants. He sits on the edge of Crowbar’s bed, knowing what he must look like right now. “He won’t hurt you again.”

Crowbar says nothing, just looking at Die with something that may be betrayal or relief. But he reaches out, his hand resting on the bruises on Die’s neck, and Die knows it was worth it. He can suffer through the rest if it means that he gets these moments when Crowbar really sees him.


End file.
